Not a Fairy Tale

Finally writing something I am willing to share again, my stuff for a while has been really bad. This is a challenge from a friend, write a story of any length but it has to have a prince and a princess, and the characters at some point have to talk to the author.

The prince, Dominique sat regally on his throne, holding his court. The area that he ruled was a small one, but it was wealthy and visually breathtaking. His family had been ruling it for generations, and the king had seen fit to leave it in their care, no matter the politics of the time. The prince was a young man, wearing fine clothing, and looking well groomed. His prospects were good, as young as he was; he was already betrothed to a princess who was well known to be the vision of loveliness. It was at this point that the prince interrupted me.

“Glossing over a lot of details there, and the details you are including don’t seem to have a lot of connection to what is actually going on. Creative license is one thing, but let’s give honesty a chance here. You’re writing like we’re in a fairy story.”

“There’s nothing wrong with writing a fairy tale every once in a while,” I protested, indignant.

“If you’re going to write a fairy tale then leave me out of it,” Prince Dominique ordered me. “If you haven’t noticed I’m not much of a fairy tale person. If you want a white horse go somewhere else, I’m personally a fan of black.”

“If I decide to write that you have a white horse, that’s my business. I’m the author here, I’m the one in charge,” I said, crossing my arms. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’ve argued with one of my characters.

“If you keep writing like this, I’ll tell everyone that you still have a children’s book of fairy tales on your bookshelf that you read before bed,” threatened the prince. “I mean if you’re going to turn my life into fiction for the world, then I’ll do the same with your life.” I conceded defeat. “Good, then correct the fabrications you made in that first paragraph,” the prince said, looking smug with victory.

Alright, so the prince didn’t really sit regally, he sort of had himself draped across the throne, with his legs dangling over the armrest. He was just the right age of young adulthood to think of rebellion as the best type of self expression, an unfortunate thing in a ruler. Admittedly the area that Prince Dominique ruled over was a very small area, which while scenic, had nothing it that would ever make anyone interested in it. It was a well known fact that the king didn’t even really realize they existed most of the time, which was the main reason that the prince’s family had been allowed to rule it for so long. When ever the prince had ventured to court he was so mocked, even by the lower nobles, and the king had to be reminded of where his principalia even was, so he had stopped going. This state of affairs did not help the prince’s teenage angst in the slightest. The prince would have been handsome, except for his tacky love of black velvet, which made him look like he had raided the wardrobe of a Shakespearean villain. His all black clothing did not suite him, and he looked perpetually so washed out that he could have been a ghost. Prince Dominique was promised in marriage to a princess, but she was only a princess in name, her family had lost their land several generations before, and the family had sunk even lower since that time. The princess was pretty enough, but because of her lack of dowry, her only other suitor had been a merchant. It only succeeded in rubbing the face of the prince how low he was ranked.

“It’s hardly complimentary is it?” the prince demanded, interrupting me again.

“You said that you wanted me to be honest, I’m being honest, deal with it,” I answered. Prince Dominique could hardly disagree, so I was finally able to continue with the story.

To be continued...